Page 19

“Mr. Dawson will instruct you on the next steps. You are dismissed.”

He would instruct her? It took a lot of self-control not to make a face of revulsion. She grabbed her bag and stood, her eyes focused on her notebook, which remained on the table. When she reached out for it, the Highmage placed a hand on it.

“You will get it back in due time.” His stern voice didn’t leave any room for discussion. She was certain he didn’t have many discussions with anyone. It was his plan, and you either followed it or faced the consequences.

She had almost reached the door when Dawson added: “Meet me at the old cemetery tonight at ten. Don’t be late.”

Her hand balled into a fist, which seemed like a natural reflex to hearing Dawson’s voice.

7

As Mira walked down the main staircase, heading to her signifier class, it was difficult to concentrate on anything but the bargain she had just struck. She passed by the statue of the Shadowflame. The large marble hand with all five signifiers held an actual flame, and she felt its warmth briefly as she passed it. Aside from the flicker of the fire, it was eerily quiet. But when she walked into the lecture hall, it was packed with students. Maybe there was a shortcut she didn’t know about?

Dawson wasn’t present, but her relief was short-lived when she noticed the other students were staring at her.

“That’s the Caster,” one whispered to another.

“She doesn’t even have a single signifier.”

Mira hugged her bag closer, as if it was a shield, but the old leather tote could barely withstand a set of large books, let alone a fight. She angled for a free seat and sat down quickly, hoping the interest around her would die down. Gossip at her old school never lasted longer than a few weeks. But Mira wasn’t just gossip. There was something so utterly wrong with her—the school had done what it never had done before.

She cast a quieting spell, and when the world around her went silent, she exhaled with relief. She hadn’t used that spell since her days in the healing quadrant during the war, when the screams of patients were too unbearable.

But her bubble of quiet had to burst when a Highmage with black hair in a tight bun walked in.

“Good morning, everyone,” the Highmage said. With a move of her hand, her name appeared on the chalkboard behind her. “My name is Highmage Speltman, and this is Signifiers I, which is an introductory course. Combat teaches you how to use signifiers; this course will guide you in acquiring new ones. We will focus on the history of signifiers and the importance of weighing which one is the right one for you.”

Today’s topic was spirit signifiers. A hard one to accomplish, Highmage Speltman explained, since a Wielder’s magic had to call out to a spirit.

Mira stared at different wiggles and lines, dots and waves on the page, all different signifier brandings depending on the spirit the Wielder chose—or which chose the Wielder. Her fingers traced the lines on the page, wondering what it felt like to tie your powers to a spirit. Perhaps it would whisper in your ear to use more Dark Magic until it was all spent. She shuddered at the thought.

Mira turned her head and watched the snowflakes outside dance in the December air, blanketing the forest just off campus in white. Despite its beauty, she had always hated snow. It was a reminder of how far away spring still was.

“Miss Winters.” Highmage Speltman’s voice ripped her out of her daydream. “As my only student without a signifier, I would hope you are paying attention.”

Mira sat up taller. I couldn’t care less about signifiers. “Yes, of course.”

“Is there somewhere better for you to be at the moment?”

Yes, anywhere but here. “No, I’m sorry.”

—

Her next class was demonology. It took her a second to notice Highmage Obryn because he stood entirely still by the lectern, checking his notes. Why was Obryn here? According to her syllabus, another Highmage taught her demonology class. When she walked past, his eyes locked on her. Mira quickly found a seat and hoped she could disappear behind the other students, but Obryn’s stare didn’t let her go.

She looked away, focusing on the clock on the wall and counting the seconds.

Would this mysterious project with Dawson require her to use Dark Magic?

Unlike Casters, Wielders couldn’t use their magic endlessly. At some point their powers would drain, and if they weren’t careful, they could experience magic poisoning and even death.

During the war, Mira had tended to Wielders who had joined the resistance. The signs of magic poisoning were obvious. It started with the main artery in the neck turning black. Next came the veins by a Wielder’s eyes and mouth. They would grow darker, and if a Wielder didn’t stop using their powers or seek treatment, they would die.

Dark Magic always came with a price—or it did until Dr. Edwin Mercer made a discovery that had changed the course of the world: a potion that could shield a Wielder from the consequences of using Dark Magic. It allowed Wielders to access their powers without limitations. He called it Aterna.

Everyone was so enamored with how he had done it that nobody stopped to ask if he should.

Mercer became the richest and most powerful man in the world, selling Aterna, which had to be consumed daily by Wielders to be effective.